


365

by finnicks



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Also kind of, Alternate Canon, Angst, Canon-Era, M/M, Reincarnation, Soul Bond, kind of, warning: nothing happens, warning: they never get together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2013-11-19
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnicks/pseuds/finnicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year leading up to Enjolras' death. He never thought it would end like this. Canon-era. Character exploration?</p>
            </blockquote>





	365

**Author's Note:**

> Basically me dumping canon-quotes and feelings. Warning: nothing happens.

364.

“Let me sleep here, until I die here.” Grantaire said to Enjolras when the barricade was being built.

“Grantaire, you are incapable of belief, of thought, of will, of life, and of death.” The words were out of Enjolras’ mouth before he could resent them. He stared down at the drunk man before him and was filled with the worst mixture of rage, disdain, and sadness. This was Grantaire, _his_ Grantaire who was capable of so much more than he thought. But sometimes his endless drunken stupor and apathetic cynicism was too much for Enjolras.

Grantaire looked like he’d been slapped in the face by Enjolras. His eyes flashed momentarily before he slumped back in his chair and the light left his eyes. He sat before Enjolras, looking resigned and tired. “You will see.” He looked beaten and grave, his face hurt. He looked away from Enjolras.

Enjolras opened his mouth to apologize, or at least to say something to keep Grantaire from looking so hurt. But nothing would come. His own chest tightened as he gazed down at man whom he never believed he would end up loving so fiercely. If someone had told him a year ago that Grantaire of all people would be the one, he would have laughed and told them they were delusional. Now here they were at the end and it couldn’t be a happy one. An impossible ending for the impossible lovers. All Enjolras could do was leave Grantaire to sleep as he returned to the barricade.

001.

The day Enjolras met Grantaire he knew it would not end well for them. The man was a joke. He laughed loudly, drank deeply, and argued fiercely. He believed in nothing , simply arguing for the sake of arguing. His words were eloquent, his speeches insightful. And Enjolras couldn’t help but be intrigued by this paradox of a person. Grantaire was the loudest of the Amis, a great source of amusement for all, yet Enjolras could tell Grantaire was the most unhappy of them all. He was dangerously jaded about society, the monarchy, and revolution.

Enjolras wanted nothing more than to see Grantaire believe in something, to be able to believe in Grantaire himself. Yet the only thing Grantaire seemed to have faith in was Enjolras and Enjolras hated it. Grantaire treated him with reverence, never seriousness. He mocked the revolution and the men behind it endlessly. So Enjolras could think of no better solution than to ignore Grantaire as best he could. Ignore the drunken declarations Enjolras so wanted to set straight, ignore the growing feelings of fondness Enjolras felt when Grantaire was quiet and thoughtful. The man was a drunk, a comedian. He was not Plyades nor Patroclus, not yet, at least.

099.

Grantaire kept returning to the students’ meetings. He showed up randomly at first, then began appearing regularly. Enjolras continued to ignore him. Sometimes Grantaire’s rants would become so loud and obnoxious that Enjolras would shout at him. And Grantaire would look taken aback at gaining Enjolras’ attention. Then he would laugh, go back to his drink, continue his speech.

When Grantaire offered to help the movement, it was Enjolras’ turn to be taken aback. He watched the man’s face carefully for any signs of a practical joke. He only noticed how Grantaire’s hair curled over his forehead and the way his nose had something smudged on it. He resisted the urge to rub it away.

“You can be in charge of finding recruits in the barriere du maine.” Enjolras finally said.

Grantaire looked willing enough. He disappeared for a moment before coming back with a red coat. “Red,” he said. His gaze was intense when it met Enjolras’. He stepped closer Enjolras and almost whispered in his ear, “Be easy,” before disappearing out the door of the Musain.

Enjolras stood there frozen for a few minutes before he made himself move.

A few hours later he went to see Grantaire where he was supposed to be working. Enjolras found him playing cards instead.

He yelled at Grantaire later that day. After his anger was gone his voice quieted somewhat. His voice betrayed his emotions as he almost pleaded, “Be serious.”

“I am wild.” Grantaire replied, looking sad.

145.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Grantaire asks one night after too much red wine.

“No. Do you?” Enjolras is packing his things away. They’re the last two in the café and the candles’ lack of wax betray the late hour.

“Sometimes. Jehan says they’re rare, though.” He pauses. Takes another gulp of wine before continuing. “Do you think it would be worse to find your soulmate but know they’ll never love you or to never find them but hold onto the hope that one say they might love you?”

“What does soulmate even mean, really?” Enjolras couldn’t help but keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“We’ve all heard the stories, Enjolras. You know, people who are meant for each other, meant to be together. It’s said that a bond like that outlasts life itself, and once the bond is initiated the souls will continue to seek each other out in their next lifetimes.”

“When did you learn all this?” Enjolras holds his things awkwardly. He has a mini internal debate before carefully sitting on the edge of the chair opposite Grantaire.

“Oh, here and there,” Grantaire said nonchalantly. He took another sip before offering the bottle to Enjolras.

Enjolras accepted and took a gulp. It was cheap and it made his lungs burn. Grantaire raised an eyebrow at Enjolras’ uncharacteristic behavior but remained silent.

“I think it would be worse to never know your soulmate.” Enjolras said after a while. He eyes met Grantaire’s in the murky darkness. “If you never met them you’d always wonder, what if.”

“But it’s terrible to know them and have them hate you.” Grantaire countered sharply before wincing in a “I’ve said too much” kind of way.

Enjolras remained quiet. He felt like he knew what Grantaire was getting at but he didn’t want to be the one who said it first.

“But maybe they just are scared,” Grantaire’s voice is queter. He searches for Enjolras’ eyes but Enjolras refuses to meet his gaze. “Maybe they just think it wouldn’t work out.”

“Maybe they know it won’t.” Enjolras’ voice is rough. The words come out and he knows they will find the cuts in Grantaire’s skin and penetrate like salt crystals, burning and festering. Before he can say anything else Enjolras gets up and leaves. The candles go out. Grantaire sits in the dark.

213.

Enjolras doesn’t know what’s happening. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. He paces around the empty café, it’s too early for anyone else to arrive, and can’t help but think about that night he was alone in this room with Grantaire…

It was obvious that Grantaire loved him, or at least loved some idea of him. Enjolras wasn’t quite sure how to feel. Sometimes he felt such strong emotions of affection for Grantaire that he scared himself. Other times he just felt angry. At himself, at Grantaire, at the world for not giving them a better chance.

It was apparent to Enjolras that they would be terrible together. As much as he wished otherwise. They were nothing alike and Grantaire believed in nothing. It broke his heart to think that Grantaire’s only true love was Enjolras. What a cruel world they had been born into.

Grantaire appeared in the doorway as if summoned by Enjolras’ racing thoughts. “Busy?” He asked seeming concerned by Enjolras’ frantic pacing antics.

“What? No, come in. You’re early.” He stated.

“Nowhere else to be.” Grantaire sighed before taking his usual seat.

“Hmm.”

“What do you think of Marius and his new girl?” Grantaire asked after a few minutes of awkward silence.

“I don’t.” Enjolras said grudgingly. He walked over to the window and looked out, trying to think of anything else.

“Marius is a fog, he must have found a vapor.” Grantaire muttered, he thought Enjolras had left the room. “Marius and his Mary or Marietta or Marion. They must make odd lovers. I can imagine how it is. Ecstasies where they forgot to kiss. Chaste on earth, but coupling in the infinite. They are souls that have senses. They sleep together in the stars.”

Enjolras remained quiet. He felt guilty.

295.

Enjolras never thought it would happen like this. He had never even believed in soulmates, now here he was stuck with his in a completely hopeless situation.

 “Why are you doing this?” He asked Enjolras, catching up to Enjolras as he left the Musain one night. The air was brisk and the streets were quiet.

“Excuse me?”

“This revolution. You’re going to get killed.”

“Oh,” Enjolras had been half-expecting a different answer. “Well, you know why.”

“All the worse. I won’t go to your funeral.” Grantaire scoffed.

“Why are _you_ doing this?” Enjolras asked angrily. Stopping Grantaire in his tracks. He glared at him. Sometimes when he looked at Grantaire he saw glimpses of other lifetimes, ones where they were happy. Lifetimes of companionship and of love.

“What?” Grantaire asked, his own brow furrowing in confusion.

“This. Why can’t you ever have faith in anything? Why can’t you ever believe in anything?”

“I believe in you,” Grantaire offered.

“Not good enough.” Enjolras sighed and walked away, leaving Grantaire alone for the second time.

330.

The barricade would rise. It was inevitable now and the students were all working late into the night preparing the barrels of guns and making ammunition. It was all finally coming into place. Each student had his or her own duty to carry out and they knew it well. It was like watching a clock work after months of tinkering with the cogs to get it just right. Seeing everyone at their station made Enjolras think of Grantaire, would there ever be a place among the ranks for the cynic?

365.

“Who’s there?” The guardsmen called over the barricade.

Enjolras’ heart was pounding, his eyes wide. “French revolution!”

It all happened so fast after that moment. It made Enjolras realize how short his life had been, really. One hour his friends were all there with him, the next they weren’t. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Feuilly, Marius. All gone. The only glimmer of hope Enjolras held onto was that Grantaire had made it out alive.

Finally it was the end. He was in the basement of the wineshop, surrounded by barrels and French guardsmen. It was finally quiet. Enjolras dropped his empty gun and turned towards the guards, “Shoot me.”

“Vive la republique!” A voice emanated from behind the guards. “I belong to it.” A familiar voice, rough with wine and dust, called out and the guards turned.

Enjolras looked up sadly and knew it to be true. Grantaire, disheveled and dazed, rising from the table where he had slept the battle away and was approaching him. Enjolras wanted nothing more than for Grantaire to turn around and leave, leave and live. Yet some selfish part of him was grateful Grantaire wasn’t going to leave him as Enjolras had left Grantaire so many times before.

“If you permit it?” Grantaire turned and met Enjolras’ gaze and in it Enjolras saw a million lifetimes past and to come.

No more words were needed. This was the only possible ending to an impossible year. Enjolras hoisted the red flag he had held on to high and felt a smile creep onto his face.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what this is. Basically me getting back to writing after a long time so this sucks. Hope you enjoyed nevertheless.


End file.
